DECIPHER
by CaitlynNichols
Summary: It's been a year since the havoc of Gotham City; now with two new investigators roaming the town, Bruce becomes suspicious of one of them when she meets the Joker for the first time, unaware of what is to come when she makes the biggest mistake of all.
1. Prelude

**It's been a while since I've been writing on FF, hasn't it? I know, DOR hasn't been progressive lately with ideas, however, I felt like making a Batman story for a change. This is a pre sequel to TDK, after all, we do love the movie. I hope you come to enjoy it as much as DOR. **

**If you wish to check out my other writings, check my profile.**

**Do enjoy, and...sleep tight.**

* * *

**D E C I P H E R**

**By Caitlyn**

"_The truth is hiding in your eyes  
And it's hanging on your tongue  
Just boiling in my blood  
But you think that I can't see  
What kind of man that you are  
If you're a man at all  
Well, I will figure this one out  
On my own"_

_Decode by Paramore_


	2. 1: Change

**|1| ****CHANGE**

The possibilities were endless.

Each trace of evidence wasn't a likeable term to this kind of meaning. What was it first of all, and what made him distinctive about it? The possibilities — nothing came to the meaning of what he called a true hero, a white knight of armor to protect such a city full of life like none other. If his true meaning of a hero meant being the one to be there for all, why wasn't he the one as of now? Wouldn't a true hero stand by?

But he had a reason, for his challenges weren't the typical for an average man like a police officer. He was _well_ different compared to a police officer.

And different was something he heeded about.

But now wasn't the time to think of meaning as to why he wasn't a hero anymore — he had to run away from the real world he protected for two years, though it felt like forever. And after all the chaos has calmed down, would he feel the challenge to get back up and fight again? It was a question he pondered about all the time, and that question was leading to a possible probe with other alliances he had never met before.

Go into hiding, he contemplated, which one thing to do was for such a quandary. Or get the help he needs to keep the town safe. His ideal thinking of a probe with another alliance was at risk, but what was there to do?

He overlooked the city tops of the glistening city lights, twinkling like stars on a dusky night, as he pondered through the possible outcomes and risks to get the city back into place. For a while it had been a quiet, but abjuring night of his life. It was what he said to him that mad the world spin. _I'll take the blame for the deaths._ How harsh those words were, and for so long that trust in a guy with supreme power in the investigation team now finally torch by the flame of betrayal.

_We nevertheless don't need the town hear about what he really did, but tell how he became our real hero._

A real hero. A hero that would do anything in the line to protect their city — something he did exactly. A different view on this was that giving in meant he would give up anything to have this city protected by the greatest of all. The Gotham police, they were the ones to be the heroes until the right time would come or his rightful return. Bringing back the right heroes was like bringing back the right answers.

His chin bent down towards the city street and knelt down to look closer.

_Gotham needs the right heroes to live out the right lives._

He ducked his head and let his feet inch off the side, extending his arms out wide like wings and took off into the depths of the city.

---

_Fifty miles away from the city of Gotham lays a town where all the answers are solved. And as he hoped, an alliance came into view._

_---_

"Do you suppose you understand the case?" He asked her, flinging his bag over his shoulder.

She gave back the dismissed look of appeal as to why he was so particular on the questions he couldn't stop asking.

"As opposed to you, Mathew?"

"Obviously."

She smiled at him, wide eyed. "The judge made it clear that this case has to do with the recent attacks in Gotham city, and opposed to the fact that the Gotham Police are discharging their duty to get close to anyone with alliance with the Batman, are clear to see that their idea on a hero is just misunderstanding."

For a first, Mathew didn't get any single word she had just said. And secondly, how the hell was this supposed to be a good case to run off the back?

"I did not get a single word out of your mouth." Mathew regarded.

"What I'm saying is Gotham needs the right hero to stand up and fight for good, and that is the Batman."

"So you think Batman should go back into fighting again?"

"Of course! The Gotham Police got it all wrong even if he claims to have killed people."

His breathing went deep as they walked down the stairs of the fancy well established foyer. "Elle, no matter how you flatter the attorneys, they aren't going to listen to your regards about Batman. He's gone and that is that."

Elle wasn't approving all of his complaints, no, not one single bit of bitter grievance. But he was like that anyhow no matter how you were to change him. She smirked at his groomed face and leaned into his shoulder. _He would approve though the kiss up attitude to make up for my belief._ The palpable sign of making up was clear to Mathew when he felt her warm rosy cheek touch his tuxedo, with a light hint of her fragrance. Sweet pea. His favorite sent he loved on her.

"Well, I'll try to give into your demands, but don't expect half of the investigation team to follow along."

Her face glowed when she heard the official answer.

It was a few miles in when Mathew and Elle left the court room for the day, and went back to the police department for their announcement. To Mathew, it was a grand announcement, for the fact that they were going beyond the legends of their town cases. They were going way farther than that. The city of Gotham had given their department a chance at the living life of Gotham's wild and high crime percentage city, and to Mathew that was all he had ever wanted to do was to go and make a grand entrance to Gotham's government. It was Elle who was quench on certain taste of Gotham's crime rate, but would do anything to help.

On arrival to the department, he pulled up to a parking space in his newly black GMC and shut the door behind Elle, holding her hand with a firm grip.

"Don't worry about what the judge threatened about Gotham's certainty of maniacs. We'll do well."

She gave a slight nod towards his shoulder and followed along into the standard size building, already intruded by the noise of phones ringing and voices chattering about Gotham's crime rate rising every second of each day and how the worse soon came for these people trying to live at peace. Up in the administration office Mathew and Elle walked to the main desk, a woman at a look of forty or so glanced up with her squinting eyes covered by a shield of rimmed glasses; her almond hair was pulled back into a tight bun and pinned to the side with hair pins, neat and clean she was with a fine touch of modern taste. Her outfit was the simple white buttoned up blouse with a gray skirt, somewhat seen in most departments of the building.

Her lips were full of color, a stroke of cherry lipstick would outspread her full lips. Somewhat on the contrary for Elle's lips were soft and petite due to her face structure of a French glass doll, and the height of five feet five inches, she was a little thing Mathew would enlighten, profound in his discrimination of women. Nevertheless, Elle liked it when he compared her to a French doll, delicate as glass and admirable like a model seen at a runway. Her shrewdness on men though was unlike any typical mind for most women — her fandom of the Goths went to the modern view of emo and a bit of punk, for she did have a bit of spunk in her.

She laughed at the thought and levered her hand on the manila folder adjacent to Mathew's elbow on the counter.

"How did the herring go?" The woman asked Elle, giving back the impassive response to a detonating seminar she would have went through like Elle.

"It went great, although I'm quite disappointed about Gotham's new herring on the Gotham City Police Department."

She gave back a nod. "I heard about that."

"They're going to backdoor any kind of superhero that stands their way, chiefly Batman, who was blamed for the recent deaths in Gotham."

"Guys who dress up in a suit think they have the right to fight. I think they're idiots."

Elle poise on this wasn't that intentional just because everyone thought a dressed up comedian playing as a superhero were the real hero's of this world.

"I don't think Batman is an idiot — looked what he did with the thugs two years ago. Would someone really get in their hair like _that_?" She mumbled, "He did some great deeds that help Gotham so much."

The lady snorted, "Until now." She gave a quick glance at the manila folder and raised her eyes towards Elle. "Unless you want a taste of the theoretical than by all means would be interested in this case."

She handed Elle the folder, vaguely enough to give Elle that chance of a theoretical case.

"From what the Chief said, he purposed you to try this out and see what you can get out of it."

She opened the folder and scanned her eyes on the documentation on the case she was about to endure; her first challenge in a wild case was with a man threatening to burn down a wildlife park due to his beliefs — this, however was bit more wild than that. It was a mobster group — as usually — but the man didn't have an exact name so they called upon him as J to be simple and short.

She read through the document briefly. "How interesting…" she said, amused. "Likes blowing up things, runs around with a group who keep their identity protected by masks, no name, has a full record of crimes related to his interests…" _This_ _case does have a side to the theoretical unlike _most_ I've been through._

"What do you think?" She asked Elle.

Elle gave back a smile of appeal. "Sounds like a case I could experiment with."

"Good, because the Chief wants you to start _today_ by going to the Arkham Asylum to meet up with the guy and his recruits."

"Already?" She wondered who so soon when she just came back from Gotham a while ago.

"Who knows for God's sake why he wants to start this case early, but you might as well get a head on what this guy is crazy about."

Mathew gave out a soft chuckle as he slung the bag on the ground over his shoulder. "What kind of maniac is he?"

"Mental problems since he was a teenager."

"That gives a good sense of humor."

"Stop it, Mathew!" Elle argued, being reluctantly protective.

He laughed, rudely, "What? I'm just kidding around."

"I don't like it when you tease about people with mental problems though." Her face went dead as he counterfeited his statement.

"That's because about ninety five percent of the people at the Arkham Asylum are all brain dead with problems."

"And the five percent?"

He went silent, evident of his disapproval to Arkham's criminals.

She bit on the lower half of her lip, disillusioned, and asked the secretary, "Where might the Chief be at right now?"

"He left for the day, but I'll tell him that you came by to pick up on the case."

She sighed. "All right then; have a good afternoon."

She and Mathew spun around and went back out onto the pavement of the parking lot and went to the GMC, as Elle scrutinize through the folder's evidence on this man named J. Such an unusual name — a wonder of thought came through Elle. _Who could this man be? _As they got into the car, Mathew lurched on the steering wheel to look straight out into the distant mind of his, a blank mask covered his face; had this case went from serious to farcical just because Elle likes to go out and try out cases with the wild side to them? It was dumb, and stupid. He had to deploy this in a way that Elle would not have thought of it.

He turned on the ignition and pulled out of the parking space, still organizing his thoughts even though he had missed the stop pole a few seconds before he realized his concentration on driven went vigilant. His fingers followed the wheel's turn, sliding across as if the steering wheel was lathered in butter. Elle stared at him, concerned for his bad driving.

"You drive like hell today."

"Sorry," he mumbled, puttering with his lips.

The real fact that ostentatious driving meant something was wrong, and he for a fact that it was because of Elle's case she was undergoing by life. Who knows if something could happen to her — she could die because of this militant brainwashed guy named J. His records looked deadly, so why trust in the chief to let her follow along with the case?

The roads extended along the rigid edge of the bay view of Gotham's city, and soon after an hour of driving had they arrived to Gotham like real attorneys and investigators, shortly to follow up on the incoherent fact that someone too would be waiting for them, a friend whom Gotham trust was their only hope to get things back in place as they should have been.

Commissioner Jim Gordon. Distinct other than most commissioners he had the idea on what this case was about, and through the oblivions he was ready to pick up on what was left before when the knight left for good. Or was it for good as he usually pondered through every night, wondering the impeccable night he had with _him_, taking the blame as a real hero though he knew the real cause to the killings was because of Dent's broken heart. Hadn't he taken it all the way and who knows who would have happened to him — dead. The theatrics were odd, but he uncovered why.

As he waited by the Arkham Asylum, patient and of woe that filtered his mind, he propped the gun in his gun carrier and held onto the butt of the gun with his sweaty hand. Going through the same problems as before was something he didn't like, although with help it made a difference to his determination on winning. His lips sealed shut like hot glue and slowly inhaled a deep breath of the grimy city air.

And there he saw, them, pulling up to the curb of the road and smiled. The couple, about in their twenties or so, came out of the car and looked back to where Gordon was standing perpendicular from the asylum, crossing his arms over his chest. While unpacking Gordon walked up to them and greeted both with a smile and a slight tilt which looked like a bow of greeting.

He looked at Mathew first. "Mathew Portiere," and then to Elle. "Elle Lynn."

They each gave a nod.

"Jim Gordon," Mathew sighed and gripped into Gordon's hand of offering. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

Elle then shook hands with Gordon as well. "It is wonderful that you are helping out with the case."

Prior to her pretty face, he let out a soft cough. "It is wonderful to meet you both, and Elle, I do have to say but you have a beautiful face."

She blushed. "It's not the first I've been complimented."

He laughed, and then looked back at the asylum. "I suppose we should start right away then?"

---

His day is not going to start off pretty, Alfred laughed to himself. The color of dark shades around his eyes signified the long night of restless sleep and the predicament that he had a rough night of either fighting or running away. Obviously, he knew what happened, but that was not going to stop him from being his personal butler for years since he was a young child, and it was not going to stop him from being the tormented hero again.

He went towards the grand size windows and gently took a grab onto the curtains, thrashing them aside to let in the bright daylight that connoted morning, and another day in the life of his master Wayne. He turned and saw the bed sheets move abruptly.

Bruce groaned and pouted at Alfred, sounding of a momentary whisper other than the pout he usually was conceded by when nights like his went from bad to worse. The sheets were ripped apart from his bed and which then revealed the cut and bruised Bruce Wayne, lounging out like a tired out dog from running too much. He grabbed his enormous pillow of fluff and covered his head with it.

Alfred laughed at the worn out Bruce.

"I'm supposed to be nocturnal, not the man of daylight hours!" Bruce moaned.

Alfred picked up the tossed about scarlet sheets and folded them up neatly in his arms.

"The hero of nocturnal fighting usually has the ordinary life during daylight hours."

Bruce stared at him, bewildered, and hackneyed of his comeback statements. His snappy comeback butler handed him a tall glass of green substance, almost the color of dissatisfying puke than a vegetable energy drink.

"You might as well drink this," Alfred insisted. "It will help get your energy back." And then he noticed the cut on the side of his lip, deeply gashed with dry blood smudged onto his cheek. "And it will get rid of that awful taste of blood."

"And then the aftertaste of recent puke." Bruce mumbled.

"I couldn't find any more Rockstars in the fridge, so I had to make one close enough with the same energy power as a Rockstar."

His eyes squinted as he took his first sip of the green milky substance. "I'll have to add that to the grocery list." He moaned, huffily.

Alfred stared down at him, the sign of precision and reverie took over in his eyes. "I assume you had a rough night, Master Wayne?"

His concern made Bruce's spine come to a sudden halt and a shot of cold surged down to his lower back. His assumptions usually were always correct no matter how he would try to get Alfred not to worry. It could have been a theory, but his quandaries constantly signal the sign of worry like the flood light at the Gotham City Police Department. Alfred somehow understood the quandary he was facing at the moment of his hiding.

"Let me guess — it's about _that_ night."

Bruce gave at nod towards Alfred and stretched out his back, in preparation for his daily work out. He inched off the bed slowly and knelt down to do a few crunches, as he tried to evade what Alfred was proposing towards his sleepless nights and uprooting attitudes.

"Master Wayne, I know that night has caused so much to hurt inside, but you have to understand that things will eventually clear up." He reassured him, "The worst usually are solved through a bit of help through the trust of friends."

"And those friends are those at the GCPD." He argued back, not trying to sound too crucial.

Alfred grimaced towards his response. "Clearly, you don't see the positive outcome from this."

"A _positive_ outcome?"

"Things will get better; for sure I know how long you've been through problems like this."

He mumbled underneath his breath, "This, and that. This and that…all the same."

Bruce let his back rest on the cold tiled floor and looked up towards the ceiling, etching with his finger the designs made of white mold carvings, dazed out and unaware that Alfred moved to make his bed. His concentration had went meek a couple of times when exhausted during times like this. When tracing the patterns of the ceiling, Alfred finished making his bed, and hovered above him with a deadpan face.

"Have you seen what you've become?"

"A man that doesn't give a shit of his life?"

He didn't smile at his answer.

Bruce shrugged his shoulders at him. "What?"

"Be serious about this, Bruce."

His face was masked by the irony Alfred was trying to partition.

"You've become a mockery towards your inhabitation of your strengths. Now is not the time to gripe about your surrender — you did whatever it took to save your city for a good cause."

"Alfred," he exclaimed quietly. "A hero doesn't take the blame for deaths because of someone else's duties."

"Now, come on. It wasn't your fault that Dent and Rachel are dead—"

"It is old man," Bruce tried to explain. Usually by calling him old man, frankly, didn't harm any of Alfred's feelings. Instead, the word _old_ hadn't changed for his appearance. "Why should a hero be the one to come out and say 'I killed our most precious hero of Gotham city,' even if I was their idol."

Alfred shook his head, understanding Bruce's notion. The niche of his back stood straight up as Bruce pointed out most of all his premeditative background.

"I wanted to help Gotham as a good hero — I wanted to regain power after all the tentative tribulations I've faced throughout my life. Now, I have two of my very best people left for dead. A hero shouldn't deserve it."

He sighed, knowing what Bruce meant. "You're right, but acting like this is getting you nowhere." His fingers ran over the glass cup and handed it to him. "Look, if you want to take a break from being the hero for a while, be my guest."

Bruce took the cup and swallowed down the green substance in one gulp, cringing for a second from its aftertaste.

"But I will warn you, things don't turn out the way it should seem."

"I'll doubt that." Bruce said, handing the cup back to Alfred. "But I have a feeling the hero in me won't leave."

He laid back and hauled up a few crunches when then Alfred went to the table hovering his view of the ceiling.

"I wouldn't think Gotham would go through any more turmoil for a while now that I'm gone."

Alfred took the cup and placed it on the mahogany table top where a _Gotham Time's_ newspaper was laid out flat for view, corroborated in bold letters on the top page about another mess up in Gotham.

"Oh really?" Alfred inquired, giving him the _Gotham Time's_ newspaper, pin pointing to the first section of the paper.

Bruce got up from the floor and sat cross legged, holding the paper in one of his hands and reading the article Alfred pointed to. In captions, the article read: _"Gotham's Newest Threat?" _The sound of a helicopter overburden his thoughts as he read through the article well, grimacing towards the writing which negatively spoke of the newest threat Gotham was about to face after the incident with the Joker.

_Officials believe that a new threat is growing towards the western side of Gotham city; unlike the Joker's tuition towards people's lives, a group of people was discovered near the harbor and purposively have no connection with the Joker at all. Police say that this group may be the first to see the outcome after Batman's disappearance, and may not be a major threat towards Gotham._

He gave a questioning look at the paper.

_It is believed that Nigma, one of Gotham's latest criminals from the Arkham break out, is backing down from criminal duties and is instead letting Gotham's chaos calm down. But police are unsure at the moment._

"This is so ridiculous." He mumbled, "He's backing down just because Gotham is in chaos? Then there's no meaning for a threat."

"But remember," Alfred pointed out. "Police aren't sure of it though."

Bruce's feet planted to the floor and stood up, putting the newspaper onto the table, stretching out his arms wide like a bird's wings ready to soar. "People always determine the wrong people." He went into his walk in closet — the size of his bathroom and with a hint of white for the walls to note — and pulled out one of the drawers with button up shirts, putting it on as he went for the pants section of the closet. Alfred wondered alone why he seemed to be so predictable about things, implying towards his everyday routine of getting ready early because of one main reason.

"Getting ready so soon, Master Wayne?" Alfred asked.

"You should know why," Bruce grumbled, sliding on his pants and buttoning the rest of his shirt.

"I understand that you're trying to help out in the recent case, but wouldn't Jim Gordon get too suspicious?"

"Not unless I don't see him."

Alfred shook his head and helped him with knotting the black tie. "I find it quite confusing on why a man who is gone into hiding is helping with a case he doesn't need to study on."

"I promised Gordon I would help since Rachel and Harvey Dent are gone."

"But don't you think there are other attorneys following in the same case that they don't _need_ the help?"

He gave him a blank stare and pulled on the black tux. "I'm a man of my word, and I keep them like that." He fixed one of the pockets and tucked in a pen between the tiny buttoned up pocket. "I hear that there is a new line of attorneys taking over the case."

"Do you know who they are?" Alfred asked.

"I heard it's an engaged couple; how flattering when one of the attorneys I knew dies right before I knew she would one day get engaged to the greatest man of Gotham, Harvey."

Alfred suddenly gave out a loud cough and sniff when he heard the word _engaged_, proving that Bruce didn't know that the letter from Rachel Dawes didn't exist in his awareness. Would it be the time to tell?

He had prepositions that it would be wrong to tell him, but would he know later on of his secret?

"About _that_…" Alfred drawled, eventually the trail of his sentence disappeared, even when Bruce wasn't aware of what his meaning was until his sentence dragged of evidence.

He turned around, suspiciously eying his posture and asked, "About what, Alfred?"

The old man shook his head back to reality when he saw that the young playboy billionaire was suspiciously looking at him with one intense eye glance. It was that sight that made Alfred want to seal his lips shut.

"Would you be upset if…" His sentence dragged again. The young boy gave another glance and waited.

Eventually, the old man did come up with a statement. "You found out that maybe Harvey did propose to her without you knowing?"

_Was this what he had in mind for so long?_ Bruce questioned to himself.

"I had a hunch he would have. If he did, then he was smart to have kept it a secret."

A sign of relief feel upon Alfred's lowered eyebrow line.

"Not even a bit upset?"

Bruce questioned it again in his head.

"Surprised would be the answer, but not upset, even if I did _like_ Rachel."

"Whatever you insist." Alfred said, and finished fastening the knot, making it tight so it would almost make Bruce gasp for air. Tidiness is the key to success he would always muse and laugh about. For Bruce, though, that was a different story to comply.

"Please do be careful with whatever you do to help."

Bruce nod and flipped open his phone and pressed the speed dial. He places the phone up to his ear and answers, "Gordon? Hey, its Bruce. Say, do you need me today?"


End file.
